


An Aftermath

by Sneaky_Apostate



Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: Gen, estranged brothers reuniting, mentioned of past child abuse, mentions of past trauma and abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-24
Updated: 2019-09-24
Packaged: 2020-10-27 14:24:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20761829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sneaky_Apostate/pseuds/Sneaky_Apostate
Summary: For the first time in over twenty years, the Seed brothers sat down for dinner.





	An Aftermath

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: mentions of child abuse, past trauma, implied anxiety and implied PTSD. 
> 
> Please enjoy <3

The door shut behind him, and John Seed clutched the delivered bag of soup to his chest. 

He remained in the hallway, eyes unmoving from the sterile white walls beside him as his fingers tightened around the warmth in his hands. Somewhere beyond the door, the elevator bell rang a sweet and shallow farewell.

He inhaled sharply as the burn of the soup scalded his fingertips through the foam and he adjusted his grip quickly, shaking his head from the trance. His feet were bare on the floorboards, and he moved past the polite row of shoes nudged against the hallway corner. He’d tried to tell Jacob that it wasn’t necessary, but his eldest brother had shrugged his worn boots off at the first hint of a gleam from the polished floorboards. 

Beside the pair of scuffed boots and the tattered loafers, John’s dress shoes were out of place. 

His fingers tightened around the soup, and he held his head high as he moved into the dining room. He’d turned the heater on, still unable to help his guilt when he remembered the thin and threadbare jacket Joseph had worn that winter day when he’d arrived in the foyer of his law firm.

“That smells wonderful.” Joseph hummed, still standing by the window. It was his favourite place in John’s apartment - the night he’d finally accepted John’s offer of accommodation, he’d stayed up late by the windowside; content to simply stare down at the flickering car lights and ant-like figures rushing below. 

Jacob had raised his eyes to watch him re-enter the room, but John noticed that he was still in the same position as before; awkward and apparently taking care to not touch anything. 

John stopped, resisting the urge to fidget - remembering the slap of a ruler against his knuckles when he’d squirmed at the Duncan’s dinner table. He held up the styrofoam prize in his hands. 

“It’s...soup,” he said as an announcement, setting it down rather unceremoniously against the kitchen bench. The bowls he’d prepared earlier gleamed too bright beside the takeout, and John hesitated for a moment; rushing mentally through his cupboards and trying to think of an appropriate replacement.

He was procrastinating, he knew; fingers tapping softly against the container’s lid for time as the thrill of doubt fell through him. He’d already decided what his estranged brothers thought of him, and therefore he knew it must be so. 

A hand reached out and covered his, and John glanced up to see that Joseph had come to his side. He smiled reassuringly at his younger brother as he took the bowl of soup from his vice grip. 

“Thank you for ordering us dinner, John,” Joseph said, opening the lid and sighing as he smelt the contents. 

John stared down at the gleaming bowls for another moment, and then met Joseph’s unfaltering smile once more. 

“Shall we?” Joseph asked softly -  _ knowingly _ \- and gestured to the table with a nod of his head. 

And so, for the first time in over twenty years, the Seed brothers sat down for dinner. 

Jacob pulled out the chair, wincing as it squeaked against the floorboards, and settled into the head of the table. As Joseph placed the bowls at each mat, John wished that he had something decorating the table; a bowl of fruit, some candles, a vase of flowers, anything to add a touch of life to something sterile and shallow. 

He remembered the way Joseph had avidly glanced at the photographs around his firm on the day they’d reunited; eager and hopeful for a snapshot into his brother’s illustrious life. Perhaps he’d imagined a grand story of John Seed, a diamond hewn from the rough of his youth, and the idea that the years apart had been kind might have made their childhood separation sting just slightly less. 

Instead, he heard the tale of John Duncan. 

“This comes from the corner-store, if I remember correctly?” Joseph asked, breaking the silence. He traced the underside of his bowl; palm savouring the warmth and he smiled. “A fine choice, John. Thank you.” 

John breathed a silent sigh, and stared down at the soup.

“I remembered... We ate soup,” he said, voice soft but steady. “In that police station. They got us soup, and we sat at that excuse of a table, and they wanted to keep asking us questions and...and Jacob…” He broke off, glancing up at his eldest brother, who was staring intently back at him. “You, uh...you told them to fuck off and let us eat.”

Joseph huffed a quiet laugh, and John glanced back down at his soup. 

“It was this flavour,” the youngest said, stirring his bowl. “I don’t remember much, but I remember this.” 

They fell silent; their ambience being the hum of too-pale lights hanging from the ceiling and the distant sound of life from the streets outside. 

Jacob cleared his throat; resting his fist against the tabletop, finally allowing himself to touch the gleaming wood. 

“That was the night they got the Old Man,” he said, voice hoarse but firm. “We’d been there for hours. You were in Joe’s old clothes - fuck, they were probably mine before that, even.” He paused, a crease between his brow as he thought of details to add; compensating and trying to give his little brother anything of what he could remember. “Police’d given you this old bear - dunno where they found it - and Joseph had managed to find some magazines.” He paused, his lip quirking in some dry amusement. “He was very convinced about some pregnancy rumours for some actress. Wouldn’t stop telling me about it.” 

John hung onto the words, and couldn’t help but smile at the thought of the owlish boy he remembered sitting in some bare, police chair; nose-deep in some tabloid magazine. 

“It was a very interesting read,” Joseph added on, defending his child-self with a quiet smile. He seemed to understand what his brother was trying to give John; the youngest whose memories of their time together would be sparse and far between. “You looked at the pictures with me, John. You liked one of the dresses because it was gold and shiny.” 

John huffed a laugh, imagining his small hand tracing the paper and lined rows of celebrities in their red-carpet best. 

“I helped you eat the soup,” Jacob continued, voice soft as he remembered the little boy in familiar hand-me-downs kicking his feet against the chair legs, eager for his supper. “It was too hot and, uh...you didn’t reach the table yet. But you liked the soup. I remember that.” He picked up his spoon, staring down at their cooling meal and pausing; a sudden thought coming to him. “That soup had chicken.” 

John inhaled sharply, clenching his fingers against the sides of the table; a quick thrum of worry in his chest. 

“I...didn’t remember that,” he admitted, and clenched his jaw. 

Jacob shook his head. 

“Nah, it’s fine,” he said, staring down at the bowl and adamantly  _ not _ at his brothers. “I, uh, have some... _ issues _ with meat, sometimes.” He paused, stirring through his bowl with the gleaming spoon. “I like it without chicken.” 

John and Joseph shared a quick look, but neither pried. Neither needed to; they’d both read the file. 

They fell into a silence, and even Joseph, who always had icebreakers hidden away in his sleeve, seemed unsure of what to say. John had the vague sense that he was even frustrated by this; for the Voice had told him the brothers would be reunited; a  _ team,  _ the united front they were always meant to be. 

“So, Johnny’s a bigshot lawyer,” Jacob commented, the barest hint of wryness in his voice, “but, uh...what about you?” This was directed at Joseph, who paused and slowly lowered his spoon. 

“I am no lawyer,” Joseph admitted, seeming to choose his words with care; knowing the eldest would blame himself for any misfortune he had lived, “I...regrettably, spent many years adrift and without a purpose.” Jacob dropped his eyes to the table again, and Joseph was quick to continue. “But I’m on a path now, there’s no need to worry. I am, in fact, starting my own church.” 

Jacob frowned, glancing up at him.

“A preacher...like the Old Man?” 

Joseph narrowed his eyes. 

“No,” he answered, quietly but no less firm. “Never.” 

This was apparently enough of a response for Jacob, who nodded and returned to eating calmly. 

“I’m happy for you,” the eldest said, despite his understandable wariness on the profession. 

John remembered reading the file on his father - the day he’d been successful in pulling a few strings and reminding a certain government official about the things he’d whispered into his ear - and he’d raised his eyebrows when he’d seen that he’d been a preacher. Then again, John’s entire upbringing proved perfectly well that religion didn’t dictate one’s propensity for compassion. 

“I...Don’t remember much about our father,” John interrupted, tearing his thoughts away from  _ that  _ particular route. He grimaced as he continued. “Or our mother. It’s not that I  _ want  _ to, but...It’s that this is something you both know; something you both understand.”  _ And I don’t _ , went unspoken. 

He moved his eyes from one brother to the next, tapping a finger against the place-mat; uncomfortable with being so candid, but if John Seed could not be candid with his brothers, then there would truly be no-one who could ever be privy to his thoughts. 

They were silent; the clinking of cutlery on porcelain setting a rueful ambience. From outside, a car horn blared. 

Joseph set down his spoon; bowl scraped dry. 

“Jacob wanted to kill him,” he spoke up, voice uncharacteristically distant and eyes not entirely focused on anything. “When he turned on you. Jacob… wanted to kill him for it.” 

John inhaled sharply, fingers clenching tight into a fist against his thigh. He glanced across at Jacob, who’d stopped eating and had set down his spoon, but had not looked up from his bowl. 

“I would’ve,” Jacob muttered, low as he confirmed his brother’s words. 

A nasty voice in John’s mind whispered that maybe his life would have been better if Jacob  _ had  _ done it. The lawyer shushed it quickly, he who understood that one way or the other, the outcome would have been the same. 

Their paths were always going to be like this, it seemed, and John wondered whether he should hate his god for it. 

“I wanted to kill him when he started hitting you, too,” Jacob continued, looking up to stare across at Joseph. “I went to our mother...screamed at her ‘till I was blue, screamed for her to fucking  _ do  _ something, ‘cause I couldn’t.” He paused and shrugged, taking another sip of his soup to feign something like nonchalance. “I don’t think she even saw me.” 

John frowned, remembering the file on his father and the brief side-note it had given of their mother. Institutionalised, it had said, and nothing else. He’d tried to dig, tried to unearth the next of kin, but nothing had come of it, and he’d been discouraged enough by his father to truly care.

“Our mother,” John began, looking primarily at Jacob, who might’ve known more due to his being the eldest, “is she..?” 

Jacob shrugged again.

“Dunno,” he said, his voice devoid of anything. “Don’t really care.” 

There was a bitterness to him in this, John saw; the deep-seated outrage of a boy who’d begged to a wall of apathy. John understood; there was no more infuriating an obstacle than one that simply did not care. 

Joseph sighed; the sound soft under the hum of the heater’s air. 

“I wouldn’t spare them your compassion, John,” he said, low and John was almost startled to hear the same undertone of bitterness in his usually soft-spoken brother. 

“They never gave a shit about us,” Jacob added with a nod, setting his spoon to the side as he finished his meal. There was a reassuring resolve to him as he met John’s eyes. “So you don’t owe them shit.”

It was something he knew already; despite his childhood wonderings for his biological parents, he’d come to understand they deserved nothing from him. Instead, all thoughts of them had been replaced with a morbid but curious apathy. 

“I...confess I never understood it,” John muttered, tracing the untouched dredges of his soup with his spoon. “How you could see a child, know that they are yours, and... do anything  _ but _ love them entirely?”    
Joseph looked across at his brother with something close to pity, for he knew his brother had drawn a short straw with guardians twice, but he schooled his expression quickly. 

“I think,” Joseph began carefully, loosely clasping his hands together on the table, “that... _ sometimes _ , people should not have been parents.” 

John looked at his brother, who was thoughtful but he felt a genuine air of faint bitterness in the room. 

“Ours?” He asked, and it wasn’t entirely a question. 

Joseph quirked his lip; something wry but remarkably grim in the expression.   
“ _ Especially _ ours.” 

A spoon hit the place-mat with perhaps too much force, and they glanced across at Jacob, who was frowning now, and John believed it was the most passionate and  _ alive  _ he had seen the eldest since they’d plucked him from the same-faced men in the shelter. 

“People like our folks just don’t fucking deserve kids,” Jacob said, looking up to stare at the two of them, something intent and firm in his eyes. “They didn’t deserve  _ us _ .” He paused, and softened his glare as he looked at his family, finally seated across from him as he’d wanted for all the years he’d been away. He cleared his throat and continued softly. “And fuck them... ‘cause we’ve got each other anyway.” 

John inhaled sharply, feeling the warmth spread through his chest as he allowed himself to relax in the presence of his family; allowed himself to truly let the mask of John Duncan slip and not fear the consequences. 

Who would unconditionally love the true John Seed any more than his own brothers? 

“Yes,” John murmured, and for once, it was no mantra. 

“We do,” Joseph added, the heaviness of the room lifted with his smile, “and that’s all we need.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed <3


End file.
